


Saints in Vegas

by Sarah Hawke (Wonderloner)



Category: Saints Row
Genre: "accidental" marriage, F/M, Las Vegas, Las Vegas Wedding, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:06:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4516038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonderloner/pseuds/Sarah%20Hawke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know where we should go? Vegas.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saints in Vegas

“You know where we should go? Vegas.”  
The Boss turned her head from the dartboard she was aiming at. “Vegas? Why?”   
“We could use a vacation. Get away from all the publicity shit,” Gat said, leaning on the table next to her. “And you think Vegas is the way to do that?” “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”   
She pondered on this for a moment. “Alright. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?! Why the fuck did I say that?!” The Boss of the Saints was currently attempting to escape a casino in a showgirl outfit, carrying half an ice sculpture and a gun, while seriously regretting everything she’d ever done. Three angry security guards charged after her, covered in the contents of a buffet.   
She vaulted over a blackjack table and headed for the Porsche being given away in a draw, which Gat was currently hotwiring. “Get a move on, Johnny!” She yelled, dodging gambling retirees. “Almost got it! Keep the guards off me!” The Boss fired her gun at one of the machines, causing it to spill out coins. Flocks of people swarmed around the waterfall of money, cutting off the guards. The car revved to a start. “I got it, hop in!” The Boss jumped in the passenger seat, shoving the now-melting ice sculpture in the backseat. “Seatbelt!” Gat yelled as he drove full speed out of the casino, shattering the glass doors and alarming several casino goers. He made a sharp turn and started driving down the road, laughing triumphantly.   
“What a rush! So, how much did we cross off of our Vegas to-do list?” “Seven, no wait…“ She looked down her top. “Eight things.” Gat gave a low whistle of approval. “Not bad, not bad. So what’s left?” 

The Boss pulled a piece of paper out of her cleavage. “Let’s see, get shitfaced.” 

“Halfway there.” 

“Run through the streets in our underwear.” 

“Need to put some on first.” 

“Me too. Crash a bachelorette party.” 

“Yeah, that’ll be fun.” 

A car suddenly cut Gat off, swerving back and forth. He stuck out his head to yell at them, and The Boss took this moment to discreetly pull a pen out of her top and scribble something down. “Fuckin’ idiots…” Gat said, pulling his head back in. “Alright, what’s next?” “Well, there’s swimming in the hotel pool and getting a Vegas wedding.” “Yeah, hope I remembered my swim trunks- wait, what?” 

“Yeah, says it right here.” 

“I don’t remember writing that.” “You must’ve been drunk. Want me to X it out?” Gat thought about this for a moment. “Nah, leave it on. Why the hell not? It’s a prime Vegas experience. We can just get it annulled when we get back to Stilwater.” “Good thinking, Johnny,” she replied, turning her head away to hide her smile.

 

And so there they stood in a cheap margarita and shame-stained chapel, Gat in a tuxedo t-shirt and The Boss still in the showgirl outfit, but with a dollar store bridal veil atop her head. A priest who looked simultaneously self-righteous and exhausted stood between them, half-heartedly reciting the “I do”s “Do you, Johnathan Gat, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” “Fuck yeah.” The priest sighed loudly. “And do you- oh, just kiss already, my shift’s up.” Gat chuckled and leaned in for a peck on the mouth. What he got was dipped by The Boss and passionately smooched. “Congratulations, good luck to the happy couple, please leave.” The two separated from the kiss, The Boss laughing stupidly and Gat unable to tell if he was dumbfounded or completely wasted. “The babies you will make tonight will be very stupid,” commented the priest. The newlywed gangsters stumbled out of the chapel. “C’mon, husband! Let’s go upgrade to the Honeymoon Suite at the hotel!” “Dibs on the chocolate strawberries.” “Fuck you, I’m the bride, I get first dibs on the chocolate strawberries.” “Wrestle you for it?” “Please do.”

 

For many brides, the first thought upon waking after their wedding night is something about how happy they feel to be waking up with their husband. The Boss’s first thought was “Fuck, shit, fuck the sun, shit, goddamn, shit, fuck,” which is the thought of a very hungover newlywed. Pounding headaches take precedent over the joys of marriage. 

She painfully opened an eye to behold a sleeping, glitter-covered Gat with icing smeared all over him. She confirmed that she was indeed naked, and a brief misdirection of the hand confirmed that Gat was too. “Seriously? He couldn’t bother to take off the sunglasses?” 

She threw her hand up to lazily smack Gat in the face. “Wake up, Johnny. I’m not suffering alone.” He groaned sleepily, turning his head away. “If you don’t wake up, I’m cancelling your annual donations to the cat shelter.” “The fuck you are,” Gat said, turning his head back to look at her. 

“That’s more like it. How ya feeling?” 

“Like I got hit by a tank. Did we mix Saints Flow with vodka at some point?” 

“I dunno, maybe. Bad choice.” 

They laid back for a minute. Then, their faces scrunched up in confusion. Then, something clicked in their pained and liquor-soaked heads. 

“We got married last night, didn’t we?” Gat asked. “Yup,” The Boss said, checking her finger to find a simple gold band. “Couldn’t even bother to get a nice ring.” “Gimme a break, we were both wasted.” Gat looked The Boss up and down. “I assume we consummated the marriage?” She lifted the sheet. “Unless somebody else sucked your dick wearing Ruby Rebel lipstick, I’d say yeah. Boy, you weren’t kidding about 8 inches.” Gat laughed, and then winced when it made his head hurt worse. 

“C’mon, I think this hotel has free breakfast.” He got up and walked to the bathroom, and The Boss noticed a faint violet-red mark on his right buttcheek. “I may have bitten your ass last night,” she called after him. “No shit? Damn, you’re a bit of a freak, huh Boss? I hope we used a condom.” She picked her clothes up off the floor only to find something sticking to her top. “Yep, we definitely did!”

They had stale waffles and piss-weak coffee in the hotel before packing up their stuff, leaving a tip for the cleaning staff as an apology, and hopping in the car to go to the airport. On the way there, they engaged in mostly small talk until The Boss interrupted a discussion on their flight schedule with “Who do you think topped?” 

Gat stopped mid-sentence to look at her in surprise. “What?” “Last night, who do you think topped?” 

“Why do you care?” 

“Curiosity. I don’t really remember, so I was wondering what you thought.” 

“I don’t know any more than you do.” 

“It was probably me.” 

“Bullshit! I’m bigger than you!” 

“That don’t mean shit, I’m the boss, so I’m obviously the more dominant one.” 

“Your position as a gang leader don’t have nothin’ to do with your sexual position.” 

“Sure, it does.” 

“Prove it.” 

Their eyes met and all was silent for a moment except for the rumbling of the car, before The Boss made a sharp turn into an abandoned parking lot, and proved it.


End file.
